


Magic Hands

by sotherby



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sotherby/pseuds/sotherby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers is injured. Wrench is really great at massages. The rest is inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Hands

**Author's Note:**

> i have very little knowledge of massages and even less on ASL. i can only apologise for what you're about to read tbh.

As jobs for the Fargo syndicate went, this case in particular was never destined to make their top ten. A disastrous mixture of bad intel, bad weather and bad luck; it wasn’t even close to reaching the ranks of their top one hundred.

The turbulent sky outside was unseasonably dark, rendering their rendezvous point - an abandoned office room - almost pitch black. Wrench had been busy at the other end of the room, fighting off three goons simultaneously with what Numbers could only describe as ‘brutal efficiency’, and a fourth had seemed to come out of nowhere, knocking him roughly into a wall. The shabby plaster work fell away under the force of the blow, unsettling dust and obscuring his vision. The goon took advantage of his disorientated state, the fucking cheater, and grabbed him by the scarf. The snarling heft of a man threateningly raised a large hand and before Numbers could finish his hazy internal plea of, ‘please, god, not the nose’, he was tossed like a rag doll, colliding painfully with a heavy metal desk.

Groggily, slowly, he came to.

“My nose,” he said out loud, to nobody in particular. There was a shuffle of movement somewhere to his right. He turned his throbbing head as slowly as possible, wincing. Wrench had folded himself into a small wooden chair beside Numbers’ motel bed, long legs sticking out at awkward angles.

 _Your nose is fine_ , he signed, with a hint of a smile playing at his lips, _your ego, however, may never recover. I had to carry you into the motel_.

Numbers rolled his eyes. _Forget my ego. My back is fucking killing me_.

Wrench glanced downwards, suddenly looking a little sheepish. He brought his hand to his chest, rotating it clockwise. Sorry.

_What for?_

_I feel responsible for what happened. I let you out of my sight._

_You were busy. It was one guy. I should have been able to take him out._

Wrench shrugged. _Still feel bad_.

 _Then make it up to me_.

_How?_

Numbers scratched at his beard thoughtfully. _I have an idea_ , he signed, _I seem to recall you bragging about how great you are at massages_.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had provoked the memory to resurface in his foggy brain, let alone act on it. All he knew was that his back was killing him and if Wrench said no or thought it was weird, well. He could always blame it on concussion later. Or the pain. He really was in a lot of pain.

 _Yes_ , signed Wrench, quirking a brow, _I mentioned it in passing. And you specifically told me that if I ever tried to lay a hand on you you’d smother me in the night_.

Numbers scoffed. _That was years ago. I was_ \- he waved his hands in the air, dismissing whatever it was he was initially going to say - _it’s different now. I know you. I promise not to smother you. Now, show me how good you supposedly are_.

He sat up and proceeded to unbutton his shirt before Wrench could raise his hands to answer, tossing it onto the adjacent bed. The effort twinged his back, and he hissed through his teeth. As if sensing his discomfort, Wrench immediately pulled himself from his rickety chair, kneeling down on the mattress behind him, and then two warm, strong hands were rubbing his shoulders in slow, careful circles. Numbers was extremely grateful his partner couldn’t hear because he was pretty fucking sure he just whimpered. It had been so long since he’d allowed anyone to touch him, especially like this. It was almost overwhelming.

Wrench raised a hand to comfort Numbers and push down gently on his back, guiding him until he lay flat on his stomach. He settled down with a sigh that was a little shakier than he’d prefer to admit as those large, capable hands went back to working his muscles, exerting just the perfect amount of pressure and easing the aches and pains that knotted his body. After a few minutes had passed and Numbers had relaxed completely, Wrench pressed in deeper, working on Numbers’ lower back It felt fucking incredible, and to his mild horror, Numbers found himself growing unbearably, embarrassingly, _painfully_ hard. He suppressed a moan that he was certain Wrench would feel if it had managed to escape and buried his face deep into his pillow. Could he blame this on concussion too? It could be messing with his brain, right? Making him horny like a fucking teenager. He bit back another moan just as Wrench tapped him gingerly on the shoulder. He exhaled slowly before turning his head over his shoulder. Wrench was staring down at him with that serious, slightly earnest expression he wore whenever they were alone together. It made Numbers feel weird. 

Wrench raised his hands to sign. _I like your ______.

Numbers frowned. He couldn’t understand that last sign.

“My what?” he asked out loud, forgetting himself. He was flushing all over, hazy and hot.

 _Your T-A-T-T-O-O-S,_ Wrench finger-spelled, ears going a little pink. 

Oh. “You’ve never seen them before?”

Wrench shook his head. _Not all of them_.

He started to trace one of the designs with a finger and Numbers flopped back down, gripping his pillow and resisting the urge to grind his hips against the mattress and relieve some of the pressure in his cock. The soft, feather light touches started to meander down from his shoulder blades towards his clothed ass. Numbers held his breath in anticipation of whatever the fuck was happening next, but Wrench stopped just above the waistband of his trousers, hands lingering a little too long before pulling away completely. Without thinking, Numbers bucked his hips with a frustrated little huff, and Wrench responded in turn, grabbing him by the ass and pulling him round into his lap.

 _Finally, you fucking tease_ , signed Numbers with a grin, straddling Wrench’s thighs.

 _You’re the tease_ , replied Wrench, rolling his hips, _for asking for a massage in the first place_.

 _I was in pain_ , Numbers signed clumsily, and promptly ended the discussion by wrapping his arms around Wrench’s broad shoulders and beginning to meet his thrusts in earnest. Wrench leaned in for a long, hot kiss, lips smiling against Numbers’.

 _Seems like you’re feeling better now_ , he replied, once they’d pulled away. Smug asshole. Numbers ran a nonchalant hand through his mussed hair and shrugged.

 _I am. It’s miraculous. Must be those magic hands of yours_.

Wrench huffed out a laugh. _Let’s test that theory_.

_Absolutely._


End file.
